The Mail Boy

Chapter 1

A/N: I hate putting these at the beginning...

So I was watching ABC family and the commercial for Jane by Design came on and I was like, "Hmmm, it'd be fun to write a story about a girl that works at a fashion design company." Then, one thought led to another, and the idea of this story came to be.

It won't be a long story. It's just going to be short and sweet and fun to write. I've wanted to do a quirky character for so long, so I'm excited about this.

Anyway, leave me a comment if you like the story. Or leave me a comment if you don't and tell me why you don't like it.

XOXO

P.S. To my Ticking Clocks readers, would you be opposed to me terminating that story? Because I've got the ending of the story. I just need the stuff in the middle and I'm not sure if I have the brain power to do that just now. Right now, my main focus is writing Trinity of Magic. Ticking Clocks was supposed to be a thoughtful story. I could always finish it after I'm done with my Trinity series, though. Let me know!

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"Oh, Queen! Your Highness! Your humble servants await your presence so that they may begin their day!"

I rolled my eyes at myself in the mirror. I hated when my mother referred to me as that.

My name was Victoria Grey. My mother and father had always had a fascination and admiriation of the Victorian age and thus, they named me, their only child, Victoria.

Personally, I liked going by the name 'Tori'. It was more casual and I was all about being casual.

"Coming, my beloved mother whom was borned within the shelter of a topless wigwam!" I called back.

I smirked to myself. I thought that was pretty clever.

I made my way down the stairs of our small ranch-style home. My mother was waiting at the foot of the stairs with a small Asian boy.

"Very funny, dear. You know I don't like talking about my birth," my mother said, playing along with my retort.

"What's a wigwam?" the Asian boy questioned innocently.

"It's a type of house, Peter," my mother explained.

Peter was my adopted little brother. My father, while on one of his archaeological digs in China, came across an orphanage where he met Peter, who was previously known as Wang. My father had always had a fascination with the Chinese culture, so he adopted him and brought him back to our home in up-state New York. Peter was seven years old now. His English had developed quickly, since he couldn't talk much when he was adopted. My mother always hoped that he would do the family proud by becoming a doctor or engineer. I, on the other hand, was hopeless. What did I want to do?

Be a rockstar.

The issue?

I couldn't sing or play an instrument.

And I was horribly uncoordinated.

But it was totally going to happen, despite what my parents said.

"What's for breakfast, mother dearest?" I asked as we walked into the kitchen.

"Organic pancakes with butter churned from a cow that just gave birth," my mother replied. I scrunched up my nose and looked at her.

"Kidding! We're having waffles with maple syrup," she said, patting my head. I rolled my eyes at her as I sat down.

"Morning, Sergent Grey. Reporting for duty, sir!" I said, saluting my father. He chuckled and put the newspaper he was reading down.

"At ease, Major," he said.

Peter watched this exchange, his silky black hair shaking with each turn of his head.

"Why did you call Dad Sergent Grey?" Peter questioned.

Four years and he still didn't understand our family.

"Because it's a term of endearment, Petey," I replied.

"What does that mean?" he asked.

"It means we hate each other," I answered. Dad whacked me on the hand with the paper and I laughed.

"Endearment means love, son. Don't listen to your sister," Dad said. I scooped up a waffle into my plate and drowned it in syrup.

"Mmmm. D-E-licious," I said, smacking my lips, my mouth full of waffle.

"Eat with your mouth closed, dear. We don't want bees to nest," Mom said, setting some more waffles on the table and sitting down.

"Then they could honey inside my mouth and that would just be amazing," I said, pointing my fork at her. She chuckled.

"Wouldn't that hurt?" Peter asked.

"Petey, you are just too literal. Think outside the box," I told him.

"What does literal mean?" he questioned.

"Peter, no more questions until after breakfast," Mom said. Peter frowned and picked at his waffles.

"So what is Your Highness going to do on this fine summer day?" Dad asked, cutting his waffles into neat mini-squares before popping them in his mouth.

"Your Highness the Queen needs to take her royal chariot to get an oil change," I replied.

"There's a coupon on the fridge, dear," Mom said.

"Thanks. The royal bank account was running low on the dinero," I said.

"What does--" Peter began, but we all cut him off.

"Peter!"

"No!"

"Not again!"

"Ok, fine! It was--" he started.

"Just a quesiton," Mom, Dad, and I chorused together. He stuck his tongue out at us before shoving the rest of his waffle into his mouth.

"All right," I said, scooping the last piece of my own waffle into my mouth. I drowned a glass of orange juice and smacked my lips. "I'm off to see the mechanic wizards. Au revoir, family!" I said, getting up from the table.

As I strode into the kitchen I could hear Peter ask what 'au revoir' meant. I chuckled to myself and plucked the coupon to Midas off the fridge. Then I grabbed my keys from the giant key holder on the wall and walked out the door, calling out to my parents that I'd be home in the evening.

I sighed as I stepped out into the mild, but slightly breezy New York summer air.

Just another day in the life.